


Pain For Pleasure - Part Three

by lucy_hudson



Series: Pain for Pleasure [3]
Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Benedict Cumberbatch - Freeform, F/M, Masochism, NYC, Pain for pleasure, Porn, Riding Crop, Sadism, Sex, Smut, dominant benedict
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-23 06:29:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20003824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucy_hudson/pseuds/lucy_hudson
Summary: Part three in the Pain For Pleasure series. You continue your time with Ben in a NYC hotel room.





	Pain For Pleasure - Part Three

You walked out of the shower and realized you didn’t have anything clean to dress into. He had told you not to pack, and you listened. You looked over the bathroom, searching for something to put on. There was a very luxurious looking bathrobe hanging on the wall near the shower, so you grabbed it and slipped it on. Taking a minute or two for yourself, you towel dried your hair and applied a little of the moisturizer the hotel had supplied. 

“There you are,” he smiled at you from the bed. Still very naked.

“Here I am,” you coyly replied. 

“Absolutely not. That has to go,” he teased, gesturing towards your robe.

You laughed and shook your head, complying with his orders and shedding the robe. His eyes lit up as it fell to the floor, as if he hadn’t just seen you naked and fucked you ten minutes ago. It was cute and almost sweet. Another surprise. What had you gotten yourself into? He motioned for you to join him in the bed. You pulled back the bedding and slipped under the soft layers to snuggle up against him. 

“So how has your evening been?” He inquired, resting his cheek against the top of your head.

“Excellent...but not what I expected,” you admitted.

“What were you expecting?” He inquired.

“Well...like last time, I guess. This has been so...nice. So vanilla,” you said.

“I can’t have you already knowing what to expect,” he answered, “because that would take all the fun out of it.”

That much was true. Not knowing how he would act kept you on edge. The fact that there was an equal possibility of him slapping you or kissing you was a turn on. As the two of you laid there together, your insecurity returned. You wanted to talk to him, to ask him things...but would that ruin it? And what if he started to ask you questions? Isn’t the almost anonymity of this more fun? Personal details humanize you, and humans are riddled with flaws. 

“So how was your day?” He read your mind.

“It was normal until it wasn’t. How was your day?” It felt so good to finally ask him that. 

“Not normal at all. Never is. But better since I texted you.”

“About that...why did you text me? I didn’t think you actually meant what you said,” you confessed.  
“Because I wanted to see you again. I’ve thought about our last night together countless times over the past year. I told you I’ve looked at those photos a million times. I meant it. I’ve been in New York more than once this year, and I wanted to call you every time.”

You were a little stunned.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Every trip was so filled with work. I didn’t have any free time. Still... everywhere I went, I looked for you. Every interview, every coffee shop, every restaurant...but you were never there. I was hoping to run into you, even though I knew the chances were practically nonexistent,” he lamented. 

“Do you have to work while you’re here this time?” 

“Some. I have some stuff to do tomorrow morning, but it should only take a few hours. Then I’ll have the rest of the day,” he added. 

“Sounds good,” you said sleepily. You could feel yourself drifting off against him.

When you awoke, you were confused to see you weren’t at home. It took a moment for you to realize where you were. From there, it was all bliss as you remembered that it wasn’t a dream. You were really in this bed. With him.

Well, you were. Where was he?

There was a note on your bedside table. 

“(y/n),  
Didn’t want to wake you.  
Will return by mid-afternoon.  
Order anything you’d like.  
xx,  
B”

You looked around and grabbed the phone to order room service. You asked for all of your favorite things and a few items you weren’t sure of, just for good measure. Now is the time to try something new, you thought to yourself, so I might as well. 

The robe from last night was still on the floor, so you snatched it up and settled into it, tying it loosely around your waist. 

While you waited for room service to arrive, you decided to explore the suite a bit. It seemed endless. You were pleasantly surprised to find there were french doors leading out onto a terrace that overlooked the city. It had a distinctly French feel, you thought as you walked out and rested your arms on the railing. Looking down made you dizzy, so you decided to just look outward instead. Down was...daunting. Room service arrived and set everything up on the patio table for you before leaving. 

You could get used to this. 

“Better enjoy it while it lasts,” you sighed to yourself. 

Most people wouldn’t sit outside for breakfast in December, but you loved it. A winter baby to your core. Admittedly, you were a little underdressed, but it wasn’t too cold. Your phone told you it was a little over forty degrees. You ate your brunch while listening to music and flipping through your phone but that only lasted an hour or so. When you had finished, it was not yet noon. You had time to kill.

Walking through the suite, you snooped through drawers and closets, but they were all empty. Back in the bedroom, you saw Ben’s suitcase on the floor. It was sitting open. Is it snooping if it’s already open? You still didn’t feel good about it, so you only looked at what you could see without touching anything. Just observing, you thought to yourself, not snooping. You saw his clothes, some cologne, socks, deodorant...the normal things people have in their suitcase. Honestly, you didn’t even know what you were hoping to find. Something interesting maybe? Something to make him a bad guy to keep you from getting attached? Classic you, trying to destroy the good things going for you. 

Out of options to keep you occupied, you switched on the TV and flipped through the channels. Pretty Woman was on, and you laughed at yourself for giving in to watching it at this moment. Why the hell not, you thought, the irony is hilarious. It was an entirely different situation, but the similarities embarrassed you a little even though you were by yourself. 

“I am not a hooker. He is not paying me. We are not going anywhere, literally or metaphorically. This is not going to end in a cheesy romantic limo scene,” you assured yourself as you let yourself get immersed in the movie. 

The door handle turned, and you rushed to flip the channel. The last thing you needed was for him to think you were dreaming of this turning out that way. You weren’t. Okay, maybe a little. But not seriously. 

Benedict appeared in the bedroom doorway and stood against the frame. He had already shed his coat. He was wearing a black jumper and dark trousers, and you noticed he had taken off his shoes as well. 

“How was your morning?” He asked as he leaned casually.

“Lovely,” you grinned as you wrapped your robe tightly around you. 

He said nothing in response. He only stared at you and squinted his eyes a bit with a serious expression. Ben walked over to the desk and took out the accessories you had spotted before. You tried to see what he was picking. Cuffs, of course… a blindfold, duh...and a riding crop. This is a little more Sherlock than you were expecting. He walked over to the bed and motioned for you to come to him. He slipped your robe off your shoulders and let it fall away. You held you wrists out in front of you so he could cuff your hands. 

“Come with me,” he ordered, taking the riding crop and leaving the blindfold. 

You followed him out into the living area where he stopped at the side of one of the sofas. 

“Bend over.” 

You bent over the side so that your torso rested on the back of the seat. He stood behind you, so you couldn’t see him. You felt your pulse quicken and your breathing become shallow as you waited for pain. Instead, chills washed over your entire body as you felt the riding crop gently drawing lines over your back. He was barely touching you with it, but your legs were already shaking. He traced over your ass and down your legs, debating where to strike first. Your mind wandered back to the first episode of Sherlock, and you silently prayed it wouldn’t be as violent. Pain was good, lacerations were not. 

All at once, you felt burning agony across your back as he landed his first strike. You couldn’t help but cry out. It was too much. He was a man who clearly didn’t know his own strength. Again you felt it, but this time across your ass. It was more bearable there. The strikes continued, each as hard as the last. You bit the fabric covered cushion on the back of the couch to keep from screaming. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t breathe. You could only focus on the pain. After twelve strikes, he ceased. His low growl of satisfaction let you know he was ready to move on. You couldn’t move. Your legs had gone limp. While he unbuckled his belt, you tried to muffle your sobs. This was so intense, and it would hurt like hell for weeks afterward. Still, you relished it. 

“Can you walk to the bedroom?” He asked. You shook your head no. 

In one swift motion, he had picked you up and was carrying you to the bed. You rested your head against his chest without thinking about it. He laid you down and stripped before climbing on top of you. Your face was wet with tears, but neither of you wiped them away. 

His hand wrapped around your throat, and he thrust into you without resistance. The harder he thrust, the tighter his grip became. His breath was hot in your ear and his weight was heavy on top of you. Who knew missionary could be this violent...and hot? As he pumped faster and faster, his grip became so tight you were seeing stars. Your fingers clawed at his hand, but he didn’t budge. He knew what he was doing. Ben squeezed the sides of your neck to slow down your blood flow rather than restrict your airway, and he had no chance of actually hurting you. It, like everything else, was only an illusion of danger. You tried to moan, to scream, to make any noise at all, but you couldn’t. Over and over, you climaxed. 

It didn’t seem logical to you. Missionary was usually boring, but this was the opposite. This was amazing. Your back and legs were still on fire from the blows, and his display of power was doing all the right things for you. It seemed to last forever before he finally orgasmed and released his grip on your throat. He tangled his hand in your hair and buried his face in your neck as he collapsed on top of you, struggling to catch his breath. 

After a few minutes of silence, he lifted himself up to look at you. Your breath caught in your throat as his eyes met yours. His eyes looked dark and sinister, but there was more to them. They were filled with layers of emotions you couldn’t translate. He looked at your lips, kissed you heavily, and disappeared into the bathroom without a word. The sound of the shower let you know you’d have a few minutes to take it all in before he returned.

As the pleasure of your orgasms faded, the pain grew louder on your skin. The places of impact had started to swell. Unable to see, you wondered if the skin had broken anywhere or if it would only be bruised. You heard the shower turn off, and soon a wet-headed Ben reappeared. Neither of you had broken the silence yet, and you weren’t going to break it right now. You got up just as he had, in silence, grabbing your phone before closing the bathroom door behind you. 

The freestanding bathtub was enormous. You noticed its size as you turned on the water and emptied a bottle of bubbles into it. While the tub filled, you inspected yourself in the mirror. Looking over your shoulder, you saw the blazing marks all over the back of you. They were an intense red color, but they had not yet begun to bruise. Neither had your neck. You lightly traced over the marks, wincing as you made contact. 

You dreaded getting into the bath, but lowered yourself into the steaming water anyways. It was torment as your body inched into the water, stinging every wound as if it were new again. Once you had grown accustomed to the water, you were able to relax. You put on some music, closed your eyes, and let everything fade for awhile. For a moment, you forgot who was waiting on the other side of the bathroom door. After more than an hour had passed, you lifted yourself from the water, gently patted yourself dry, and emerged from the bathroom.  
Ben was lying in bed watching television. He did not turn to look at you as you slipped in beside him. It was only late afternoon, not yet time for bed, but you couldn’t resist falling asleep for a short nap anyways. You turned on your stomach to ease the pain of your back, buried your face in the pillow, and faded away into a deep sleep.

Strange dreams came and went, most of which you would not remember. One, however, would carve itself into your mind. Ben was standing in front of you, silent as he had been before you slept, and he changed as he looked at you. His face seemed to glitch between himself and something evil. He was Jekyll and Hyde, both virtuous and villainous. 

You awoke to his fingers lightly tracing over your back. He looked down at you as your eyelids fluttered open and you left your dreamworld behind. 

“How did you sleep?” He asked as if he genuinely cared about the answer.

“...good,” you said after a pause, “but I had the strangest dream.”

You told him about it while he quietly continued to bask in the satisfaction of what he had done, his hands gently traveling over your back, ass, and thighs. 

“It makes sense,” he said, “and it seems pretty fitting.”

The whole thing did seem very obvious, given your relationship. It didn’t need interpretation.


End file.
